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Emmanuelle	By : TippyMidget Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Les Miserables Views: 2021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Les Miserable by Victor Hugo.

Chapter List
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Javert worked his shift the following day full of mental torment. He was rocked with terrible emotions of all sorts - mainly guilt. He felt guilt for the sin of fornication, for taking Emmanuelle's virginity. He'd whipped himself with his belt the night before until blood ran down his back in streams. He'd prayed three rosaries and begged God for forgiveness.
But he was also filled with guilt about Emmanuelle's feelings. He'd turned her into a sinner, too, and made her feel dirty and unwanted. For that, he was a scoundrel. He'd gone to the opera house on his lunch break and bought tickets to Le Nozze di Figaro for that evening, as he'd promised. He was going to go to Emmanuelle's after work and pray that she'd still go with him.
When his shift ended at three o'clock, he hurried to number 12 Rue Sainte Marguerite and knocked nervously on the door. Marie answered the door, and she did not smile.
“Inspector Javert,” she said simply, “Mademoiselle Douvant is feeling unwell again today. I doubt she's up to seeing visitors.”
“I'm here on police business,” Javert lied. “I need to speak with her about testifying in court.” That was not entirely untrue, but it could certainly wait. Jacques Marnier's trial wouldn't be for weeks.
“Very well,” Marie sighed ungraciously. “Come inside and I shall ask her if she will see you.”
Javert waited in the foyer, his heart racing, while Marie headed up the stairs. She returned after a moment and said, “She says you may go on up... since it's business.”
Javert bowed to Marie and walked up the stairs and into Emmanuelle's room. Emmanuelle was curled up into a little ball in a salmon-colored gown on top of her bed's blankets, staring out her window. Her hair was tied up tightly into a chignon with ringlets falling down around her head.
“Emmanuelle?” Javert said gently.
“Hello,” her small voice replied, still staring out the window.
Javert pulled the chair from the writing desk up to the bed. “Will you speak with me, please?” he asked her.
“I take it that by coming here, you've punished yourself enough to look at me. Or am I too ruined for you?”
She'd left hurt and angry the day before, and she was clearly still hurting. He wanted to reach out and embrace her, wanted to kiss it all away.
“You're not 'ruined.' That was a stupid thing of me to say. Of course I punished myself,” Javert told her.
“I was being sarcastic,” she said with a sardonic snort.
“I... came to talk to you about Marnier's trial...” Javert's voice sounded lost.
“No, you didn't,” she said.
He was silent for a moment.
“No, you're right. I came to ask you to go to the opera with me, but since you won't even look at me, I can see that's hopeless.” His voice faltered slightly on the last word, and he took a deep breath.
She rolled over, and he saw puffy, red eyes and streaked cheeks. She'd been crying for a long time. It seemed like she'd cried herself out of tears.
“You got opera tickets?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Didn't I say I would?” he reached out his hand to her, revealing the two tickets. “You can go without me, if you'd like,” he said.
She took the tickets in her hand and sat up. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I'd like to go with you.”
They were silent again, and then she said, “We need to talk.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
“What we did was not wrong,” she asserted, her voice forceful.
“What I did was wrong,” he replied, his voice equally emphatic.
“You did nothing on your own!” she said, the volume of her voice growing, but its timbre wavering.
“You are young. You deserved to wait until your wedding night,” he said quietly.
“Well, it's too late now,” she said, tears welling up in her emerald eyes.
“What's your point?” he asked.
“Why make me wait now?”
“Because it's fornication.”
“Well, we already did it once,” she reasoned.
“Continuing to do it doesn't make it right,” his voice was monotone and authoritative.
“But I'm in love with you!”
He stopped breathing then, and goosebumps ran up and down his arms beneath his woolen uniform.
“You think you are,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I am not a lovable man.”
She was sobbing now. “You are. You are honorable, and thoughtful, and gentle, and I am in love with you, and I enjoyed what we did last night, and I don't regret it, and I don't want to wait until I'm married to do it again.”
Javert put his head in his hands. What had he gotten himself into? Why couldn't she see their sinfulness? He wanted her to tell him she forgave him.
“Just come to the opera with me,” he said through his fingers, “and we'll take things one step at a time.”
“All right.”
“Would you like to get some food first? I never ate on my lunch shift. I'm very hungry.”
“I'll come with you,” she said. She rose off her bed and walked over to her vanity. She looked in the mirror and straightened her hair. “I look terrible,” she said, observing her puffy eyes.
“You look lovely.”
"I need to change into a nicer dress," she noted. She walked over to the chair where he sat and stood before him. “Can I please have a kiss?” she asked, trepidation in her voice. “So I know you still want me?”
He placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her down to him. He kissed her fiercely, slipping his tongue between her lips and stroking the roof of her mouth, playing with her tongue and sucking gently on it, biting her bottom lip carefully, and releasing a low, vibrating moan into her mouth. He reached a hand out to her bosom and cupped her breast, squeezing softly. His other hand wandered down to her backside, resting there as he kissed her. When he pulled his mouth away from her, she swayed.
“Do you see how badly I want you?” he asked, lust gleaming in his eyes. He released his hands from her and she nodded enthusiastically. She grinned her gorgeous smile at him and leaned down to kiss him again, but he caught her face in his hands to stop her. “No,” he protested, “Not here. I won't be able to control myself, Emmanuelle.”
“Later, then,” she said wantonly, kissing him once on the lips.
“Later,” he consented.
His stomach growled.
“Let's go get you some food,” she laughed.
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Javert was surprised at how much he enjoyed Le Nozze di Figaro. He had looked dreadfully out of place in his inspector's uniform, but it was his preferred public outfit, and he didn't care if the other patrons knew he was a police officer, after all. He only hoped he hadn't embarrassed the splendidly-dressed Emmanuelle.
Javert couldn't understand the words of the opera, because they were in Italian, but he made out the gist of it from his education in Latin, and Emmanuelle had explained the story to him prior to the show. The music made his heart swell, and he had shouted his own bravos right along with the rest of the bourgeois crowd at the end. It made Emmanuelle happy to see him partake in something she enjoyed, he could tell. After the opera ended, they took a carriage back to Rue Sainte Marguerite, and Javert prepared to tell Emmanuelle goodnight at number 12.
“Let's go back to your flat,” she pleaded with him, as they walked up to her front door.
“It's late,” he reasoned, “Your mother will worry about you.”
“She knows I'm with you.”
“We both know what tends to happen at my flat,” Javert said, a note of dark humor in his voice.
“You can fight me off. I'm small.” She flashed her smile at him.
“I'm not nearly strong enough to fight you off,” he told her, half-smiling back at her.
“Please? I just want you to hold and kiss me,” she appealed.
He sighed. He could control himself, couldn't he? Of course he could.
“Very well,” he said, with a loud and deliberate suspiration.
They walked the quarter-mile up the road to Javert's flat, and once they were inside, Javert started toward the parlor, but Emmanuelle made for the stairs, and he followed her up to his room.
She removed her cloak and bonnet, hanging them on the rack, and he took off his boots and woolen jacket, leaving him clad in his black trousers and white undershirt. He lit a fire in the fireplace, and soon the dark room was bathed in glowing light and warmth.
“Will you take my dress off?” she asked. “I don't want to wrinkle it lying down.”
He eyed her askance and chuckled under his breath, but untied the red brocade gown and laid it flat over the back of one of the wingback chairs.
“And my corset?” she asked. “It's too tight to lie down in.”
She wasn't wearing her usual cotton stays, but rather a fully boned corset this evening, so he untied that for her as well, leaving her in her petticoat (which she also found convenient to remove) her chemise, and bloomers.
Wearing just the chemise and bloomers, she climbed onto the bed.
“I'm going to have quite the time getting you dressed again,” he told her.
“That's what maids are for,” she told him, as if it were a hint. He didn't have a maid.
“I suppose I would have to get one,” he noted.
He climbed into the bed beside her and cradled her flush against his body, her chest pressed tightly against his own.
“Kiss me again,” she requested, and he pulled her up to his level to kiss her passionately. His hands wandered as they kissed, one hand sneaking under the loose neckline of her chemise to fondle a breast, and the other hiking up the garment, deftly untying the bloomers, and slipping beneath the waistband.
He used two fingers to stroke her, plunging them in and out of her and caressing her clitoris with her own wetness as she whimpered helplessly into their kisses.
Control yourself, a small voice in the back of Javert's mind told him, but he ignored it.
She bucked her hips beneath his touch and pulled out of the kiss, gasping for air. He began to kiss her neck, licking hard and sucking firmly at her flesh. She cried out, and he felt her begin to tremble precariously under his hands. He sped up his ministrations, fondling her nipple with more vigor and stroking her wetness even harder. Within seconds she was clenching around his fingers rhythmically, her orgasm coming in hard, uneven spasms. She released a cry so loud he thought his neighbors might hear, but he didn't care. She clenched her fists and threw her head back as she came, gasping and shouting.
Her voice quieted as her orgasm subsided, and she plunged back into kissing him. Javert withdrew his fingers from her, wiping them on her bloomers. His own member strained hard against his trousers, begging for attention.
Control yourself, Javert, he told himself again, as she used her tongue to explore his mouth. He groaned loudly into the kiss, a moan of desperation and want.
She pulled away. “Can't we try again?” she asked him breathlessly.
“No,” he said firmly, but the throbbing in his groin argued otherwise.
“I'm not a virgin anymore,” she argued. “And I know you want me.”
“Of course I want you,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on the hard lump in his pants. “But we're not married.”
“I can't wait until we're married,” she whimpered.
He sighed aloud and squeezed his eyes shut. “Emmanuelle,” he whispered, his voice desperate. “Didn't I just please you?”
“I want more,” she said impishly.
“Now you're just being greedy,” he responded, half-smiling at her. Their foreheads touched and he looked her deeply in the eyes. “Will God forgive me?” he asked rhetorically.
“Yes,” she answered authoritatively.
He laughed. She reached down to his trousers and began to unbutton them. His manhood sprang forth, hard and long, and he moaned at her touch. She yanked his trousers down to his knees and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it back to reveal his bare chest. He finished undressing himself for her, tossing his clothes off the side of the bed and lying there nude. She still wore her chemise and bloomers. This was a problem, he decided.
She had apparently decided the same. Seductively, she stood beside the bed and peeled her slip slowly up and over her head, letting it fall to the ground. She slid her untied bloomers slowly down, turning around so he could see her round buttocks being lazily revealed to him. She stalked back to the bed, naked and glorious, and he let out a little noise of approval.
“Come here,” he said hoarsely. She climbed onto the bed and crawled toward where he lay on his back. She straddled him and guided his erect member toward her entrance. He watched her, enthralled, and placed his hands on her thin waist.
She slid onto him, her wetness allowing him easy entrance. She sighed deeply as she sank onto him, and a low hiss escaped from between his teeth as he felt her warmth enclose his shaft. She began to rock up and down, very, very slowly – torturously slowly. She fondled her own breasts as he watched and tipped her head back, her eyes shut.
“Where on Earth did you learn how to do this?” Javert asked suddenly. She was behaving like a seasoned lover.
“Reading the Marquis de Sade,” she laughed wickedly at him, running her hands down her torso to meet his.
He snorted in surprise and grinned at her. “You've read the Marquis de Sade?”
“I've read a lot of things,” she said slyly, moving his hands to her backside.
“I'm glad,” he said plainly, his breath growing heavy.
She began to speed up her motions, rising and falling rhythmically. He moaned, and so did she, their voices breaking the silence of the room. He grasped her buttocks firmly in his hands, relishing the feel of her soft, supple flesh beneath his rough fingers.
He urged her on as his breath quickened, using his hands to motivate her to move faster. She complied, and as she moved quickly up and down, her breasts bounced. He moved his hands to her chest, feeling the movement of her bosom heavy in his hands. Her breath came in faint gasps as she moved on him, and she collapsed forward onto her hands, still bucking her hips furiously.
It was too much. He could feel his climax coming on quickly – too quickly. “Get off!” he said suddenly, lifting her off of him. He must try not to get her pregnant out of wedlock. He mustn't take this that far.
He tossed her onto the bed beside him, gasping and clutching his member.
“I want to taste,” she said breathlessly.
“Did you learn that in the Marquis de Sade's work, too?” he asked with a nervous laugh.
“Yes,” she replied simply.
“It would taste awful,” he told her, closing his eyes and trying to hold back his orgasm.
“I don't care. I want to taste,” she insisted. She laid on her back. “On my face,” she instructed him.
Well, if that was what she really wanted...
He straddled her and sat up on his knees. He stroked himself savagely, and it didn't take long. With a loud groan, he came, his seed coming in long streams. She opened her mouth for it, and it landed all over her face and in her mouth. She swallowed greedily, ignoring the rest on her face. She moaned as she swallowed, and Javert gaped down at her.
His head spun as he somehow had the clarity of mind to climb off Emmanuelle and go to the washbasin for a towel. He poured water in the washbasin and wet the towel. He walked back over to where Emmanuelle lay, covered in his seed, and he washed off her face. She giggled as he wiped off her porcelain features, and he flashed her a mischievous grin.
“You really are a harlot,” he told her, and she pretended to be horribly offended.
He tossed the towel aside and laid beside her, pulling her body against him. They lay there in the silence for a few minutes, relishing the good feelings between them. Javert felt no guilt in this moment, only bliss. He hadn't felt such tingling throughout his body in decades – perhaps even never. He'd certainly never felt the sentimental emotions coursing through his mind and body, the magnetism drawing him to Emmanuelle. Was it love? He'd never been in love before. Was that what this was? It was beyond lust now, he knew that much.
He pulled her closer to him and kissed her hair on the top of her head. She was touching him now, caressing the lines of his body with her small, smooth hands. Oddly, he felt stirrings of arousal rising again within him, even so soon after finishing.
“You should stop,” he told her quietly.
“Stop touching you?” she asked, sounding confused.
“Yes.” His voice sounded strained.
“Why?” She continued stroking his body.
“Because you're making me want you again.”
“Good,” she said.
He looked down and saw an erection growing. How could this be, just minutes after ejaculating on her face? She was magic. He growled at her and grabbed her, turning her so that she was upright.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he said, and he wasn't asking.
She grinned, and that only made him harder. She complied, presenting herself to him. He made a low utterance of want and guided himself into her, feeling instant gratification when he did. Her tightness squeezed around him and he pulled back out, thrusting back in with more vigor. She grunted as he pushed in deeply, egging him on. He began to thrust with a rapid tempo, pulling her hips against him while grasping her waist tightly in his hands. Her buttocks slapped against his hips as he slammed into her, groaning and gasping. His tempo accelerated to a speed so rapid that he could barely catch his breath and sweat began to stream down his face. He could feel himself lasting longer this time, and he spent long minutes slamming into Emmanuelle from behind. She collapsed onto her elbows, and he tipped her hips upward toward him, grinding himself into her.
Finally, after many minutes, his climax came, and he ejaculated onto her back. He collapsed backward, fully spent, and covered in sweat. He managed to reach for the wet towel to wipe off her back, and he flopped onto his back on the sheets, panting frantically. Emmanuelle joined him, her breath uneven and ragged. They curled up beneath the blankets.
“I should get you home. It's so late,” Javert said absentmindedly.
“My mother knows I'm with you,” Emmanuelle reminded him. “I can go home in the morning.”
“An unmarried twenty-year-old woman spending the night with a man old enough to be her father, Emmanuelle?” Javert asked skeptically.
“I think we've broken all the rules,” Emmanuelle said with a laugh.
“I suppose you're right,” he said, and he yawned. He'd been up quite early that morning, and two intense orgasms had worn him out thoroughly.
She had sleep in her eyes, as well, and she curled up even closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, and, secure in his arms, she drifted off to sleep. Without thought of sin or guilt, his own sleep followed shortly.
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